


Nightcalling

by toooldtobeonhere



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Cunnilingus, F/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sex, Sherlock Has A Crush, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlolly - Freeform, Swearing, nice flat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:59:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toooldtobeonhere/pseuds/toooldtobeonhere
Summary: In case we didn't have enough, a little more TFP sherlolly aftermath for ya...Wanted to write something in Molly’s amazing flat/house… let me know if i should continue :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NB written and posted in one sitting so probably full of spelling/grammatical errors - sorry.
> 
> Disclaimer - I don't own Sherlock or any of these characters.

 

 

The “ping” of the phone woke her up abruptly. She knew she should have put it on silent but she secretly knew why she didn’t. The screen was too bright as she brought it up to her face.

Can I come over? - SH

———————————————————————————————

Eleven hours earlier…

The phone went dead as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Sherlock?”, she whispered but she knew he wasn’t there. She turned and slid down the side of the counter and sat on the floor; clutching the phone to her chest. But she didn’t cry. 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. She cleaned and scrubbed the bathroom, stripped and re-made her bed, hoovered, mopped, re-arranged her books, baked, anything really not to think of the conversation earlier. 

She loved her little flat, by London standards it wasn’t all that little if she was honest. It even had a small patch of garden at the back, hemmed in on three sides by high, red brick walls and on the forth, french doors that lead into her kitchen. 

By evening, she was sweaty and exhausted. Showering quickly, she pulled on an old t-shirt and roughly dried her hair. Molly momentarily thought it was a bad idea going to bed at 8pm - she’d probably wake in the middle of the night and not be able to go back to sleep - but she didn’t care, she just wanted to get this day over with. She picked up her phone (the first time since earlier in the day) and noticed that its screen was blank - no missed calls or text - her lips flicked into a smile. _Arsehole_ she thought before plugging it in and laying it on the bedside table next to her. She fell asleep quickly much to her surprise.

—————————————————————————————

As her eyes adjusted to the light she thought briefly about just ignoring his text; she wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation, not yet anyway. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d just go away. Who was she kidding, this was Sherlock Holmes she was talking about, he was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something.

OK - Mx

_Shit, why’d I put a kiss?!?_ Molly panicked. She jumped out of bed to put some clothes on but before her feet had even touched the floor, her buzzer went.

_Of course_ , she thought. Only Sherlock would ask to come over while actually standing outside her door. She walked through the dark flat and buzzed him in. She opened the door as he approached but kept the chain on so it only opened a few inches. 

“What do you want Sherlock?”, she whispered, “its 2 in the morning”. (Her flat was originally a big old victorian town house but it had been converted into two flats decades ago. Her neighbours, a lovely elderly couple, were deaf as posts, but she whispered anyway). 

“Can I come in?” he whispered back. Molly blinked and looked down and slowly closed the door. For a brief second he thought that she had closed the door and walked away. It made his stomach drop. Then he heard the rattle of the chain and the door swung open. “Thanks” he said, stepping past her.

They stood in the semi-dark for a second but her hall was narrow and standing in such close proximity made her uncomfortable.

“Tea?”, she said abruptly (and a little too perkily if she was honest) turning into the lounge.

“Um…yes…please” he said to her disappearing form. He slipped off his coat and hung it up on the rack next to the door and followed her in. 

Her house was spotless as usual - more than spotless; she’d spent the day cleaning he deduced (he didn’t want to, but it was a reflex at this point). He instinctively looked at her hands, fluttering busily with cups and tea bags, they were reddish and rougher than normal from all the scrubbing and chemicals. Molly cleans when she’s mad or upset - he already knew this; he was often the cause of the immaculateness of the lab.

He forced himself to think of something else as this train of thought was unexpectedly upsetting. He walked slowly towards the breakfast bar as if approaching a timid animal; keeping his head low and movements smooth and silent. 

She was partially hidden by the counter but as he drew closer he realised what she was wearing - or not wearing to be more accurate. The old t-shirt (white, far too big, washed probably hundreds of times making it soft and slightly transparent, the collar frayed) had a group of kittens in a basket on it (the print was worn in places due to wear and washing). He smiled reflexively. The t-shirt was long due to being oversized but was too short to be a night dress; a realisation he had while he gazed down the rest of her body. The long expanse of bare legs was only broken by the pink knitted bed socks on her feet. He felt overly hot all of a sudden; a feeling that must’ve translated to his face as Molly caught his eye and blushed and pulled the hem of the t-shirt down to cover more of her thighs. She probably didn’t realise that all this did was pull it taught against her chest and stomach. _‘No bra’_ flashed through his brain. SHUT UP! he told it. 

“Shit, sorry…i just woke up…i’ll just go change”, she mumbled and went to round the counter.

“No, its ok”, he said putting his hands up, “I woke you, I’m sorry…I…ehh…” he looked at his feet briefly, “maybe I should go”. Any confidence he had in the helicopter ride back seemed to be dissipating rapidly. 

Molly reached out and touched his arm lightly, “No its ok, i’m awake now”. 

Sherlock looked down at his arm as she slowly stroked it; it felt like it belonged to someone else. It felt almost sensual, he felt embarrassed (disappointed?) when he realised she was actually feeling his suit rather than him.

“Why are you wet?” she asked, “You’re soaking wet!” she clarified as both hands now joined in; feeling the arms and front of his jacket. 

“I had to help John out of a well”, he said nonchalantly and gave a little lopsided grin.

“What?”, she grinned back (shit, she didn’t mean that - she was trying to be aloof!) “Never mind…” she continued, coming round to his side of the counter, opening the button and pulling it sharply down his arms, “you’ll get hypothermia!” 

To be honest he really hadn’t felt the cold until she mentioned it. He was however, enjoying the sensation of her pulling his clothes off. He berated himself for that thought, but it didn’t do anything to relive the strange (but not unwelcome) feeling in his belly. 

She draped the jacket over the chair and physically turned him, placing her hands against his damp shirt just below his shoulder blades. “Go and take a bath and I’ll get you some dry clothes”, she said as she frogmarched him out the room.

Sherlock smiled and the feeling in his stomach increased. He loved when she was bossy. He tried not to think too deep as to why that was. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause you guys were so nice, here's part 2. The NSFW part 3 is coming...

 

“Sit”, she instructed, bodily moving him to the closed toilet seat. He sat without any resistance. She went to the bath, he was glad she didn't look at him as he could feel his face stretched into a goofy grin. He quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression while his inner monologue (who now sounded infuriatingly like John) said _Yeah way to play it cool mate_. _SHUT UP!_ he admonished it again; it was like a puppy off the leash. 

He unashamedly watched her. Bending slightly she turned on the water and waited until it was hot enough. Leaning forward she put the plug in. The muscles in her thighs pulled taught as she lent over; her roll top bath was big and deep. Her pants were white with tiny blue flowers. Sherlock felt his groin stirring at the image. 

Straightening up she poured a generous amount of bubble bath in the swirling water.Molly turned back and caught his gaze. He looked knackered but infuriatingly beautiful. His pallid complexion looked pinker than before and his eyes, although weary looking, were almost black as his pupils overtook the mercurial irises. 

“I’ll go make the tea and get you some clothes”, she twittered and blushed as she rushed out the room closing the door gently behind her. 

Sherlock sat for a moment. _What the hell are you doing?_ he asked himself. He should just wash and dress and apologise and then leave. Whatever else he was thinking was too dangerous to contemplate. Thrilling and arousing, but dangerous all the same. Eventually he stood and looked in the mirror. He’d not seen himself since yesterday and he was taken aback. His hair was wild and unkempt; fluffy from being wet and then drying. His face was flecked with dirt. So was his shirt front and trousers. His trousers were torn on one knee - unrepairable by the looks of it. Listening to the water run, he brought his hands up to remove his shirt. He noticed his knuckles were grazed and bruised slightly. He peeled off the damp clothes; the dried mud falling onto her pristine white tiled floor. He left them in a heap where they fell. The bath was full now and he gingerly put one foot in. It was marginally too hot but he didn't care.

He’d always preferred a bath, but the one in 221B was too small for him. If he wanted to lay down his knees awkwardly splayed out of the water. Molly’s bath was huge. He could easily lay down; the water covering his whole body until his head just poked out of the foamy surface. He tried (unsuccessfully) not to think about Molly in this bath.

Molly hurried back to the kitchen _What the hell are you doing?_ she silently said to herself. You should have just let him say his peace, explain it was for a case, accept his apology (she would always accept it she realised) and send him on his way with a smile and a ‘see you next week at work’. _Why the hell is he in your bath?!_ she berated herself. She made two cups of tea and carried one to the bathroom. She hesitated at the door for a moment. should she leave it outside or on the coffee table for him?…

“Its open”, she heard. She sighed and wondered (not for the first time either) if he had x-ray vision. She opened the door and smiled when she saw just his head poking out the water. 

“Here”, she said stepping over the pile of clothes, holding the mug in her outstretched hand. Sherlock sat up quickly; water sloshed as he reached out of the bath to take it from her.

“Thanks”, he replied. Watching her as she looked at his torso and then quickly looked away. 

“I’ll…I’ll go get you…em…some clothes” she stuttered as she crouched down and grabbed the pile of clothes and slunk out of the room hastily. _Fascinating_ he thought as he sipped the tea. 

Molly went to her room. Sherlock had used her flat as a bolt-hole numerous times and as such kept a stash of clothes, including a one of his many coats. Molly went to the wardrobe and and found the suit carrier that hung at the end of the row. She went to pull it out but instead she lowered her hand slowly and and closed the door silently. She went to the chest of drawers and crouched down and opened the bottom drawer. There in the corner sat a neat pile of t-shirts, pyjama bottoms and boxer shorts. Taking one of each out. She briefly brought them up to her face; they smelled like her washing powder. She laid them gently on her bed. She left and stood outside the bathroom door again. 

“Clothes are on the bed”, she said to the door, not waiting for a reply 

The flat was almost silent; Sherlock couldn't tell what she was up to. He listened while he finished his tea. He placed it on the floor and slid under the water. Resurfacing he washed his hair with the shampoo next to the bath. _Coconut_ he idly thought. He scrubbed his hair and body until the water was dirty and he was clean. He stepped out and surveyed the mess of the bathroom; the tub and floor were filthy. _Lets hope she loves you,_ he though _cause she’s gonna murder you when she sees this bathroom._ Rubbing his hair with a towel, he then wrapped it around his waist and stepped out to the hall and made his way to the bedroom. 

He opened the door and was surprisingly disappointed that she wasn't in there waiting for him but he smiled when he saw what she’d left out. Dropping the towel and pulling the t-shirt over his head, _I’m definitely not going home tonight_ he thought. 

But first he had to get THE conversation out of the way. He made his way back to the lounge. She’d put the fire on and was sitting with her legs tucked under and a blanket draped over her.She jumped slightly as he entered silently in bare feet. 

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No”, he said dropping gently down on the other side of the couch.

“Are you cold? Do you want another cup of tea?”, she fussed, unfurling herself and going to stand.

“Stop Molly”, he said grasping her wrist. She really was tiny, he thought, as his hand easily encompassed her arm. The image of that tiny, narrow coffin flashed through his mind and he physically shook his head to get rid of it. 

Molly looked down at where they were connected and sat back down. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked as she watched him remove his hand and place it back in his lap.

“Not really”, he said honestly. “Not the whole thing…”. he let out a little laugh, “Not yet anyway”. 

She seemed to accept this and nodded, giving him a reassuring smile back. “Well when your ready…” she trailed off. He knew what she meant. He smiled sheepishly back.

They sat awkwardly for a moment. He desperately wanted to fill the silence.

“I meant it”, he blurted out. _NOT LIKE THAT!_ The voice in his head shouted.

“What?”, she looked up, confused.

“I meant… what I said by the way…earlier…on the phone I mean”. _Jesus, where were all these words coming from?!_ He willed himself to shut up! 

He didn't want to look at her but the silence was petrifying. The fire crackled. She was frowning slightly; the little crease between her eyebrows that she always sported when doing a tricky autopsy was there. She looked adorable. He wanted to laugh at his own absurdity but didn't want her to think he was making fun of her. So he mirrored her and frowned back and tilted his head to the side slightly. “Molly?” he whispered. 

Her face softened, “Say it”, she whispered. 

“What?’ he replied.

“Say it again. Say it like you mean it”.

Her voice was low and breathy and she held eye contact. Hearing those words again forced a huff of air from his throat.  He wanted to look away. She was like the sun; so bright, blinding almost, but he held it bravely. _Soldiers remember_ , he heard John say in his head.

“I love you”, he whispered reverently.

“Again”, she smiled.

Sherlock returned her smile, ‘I love you”, he said, louder this time, almost at his normal volume.

“Again”, she teased.He laughed out loud this time. He tipped his head back and yelled at the top of his voice “I LOVE YOU!”

“Shhhh Sherlock!”, she giggled “you’ll wake the neigh….”. She never got to finish the sentence as he lurched forward, pressing his lips against her’s almost painfully. She grabbed the top of his arms in shock but returned his kiss.  

He should be gentler, slower he thought but he was now just acting on instinct. She pulled away after a few seconds and lifted her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry” he blurted out realising that he had banged her lip against her teeth. 

“Its ok”, she giggled. With her messy hair and cheeks tinged with pink he felt overwhelming protective. He wanted to stay here forever; hide in this beautiful home with this beautiful woman for the rest of his life.  

“I don't want to be presumptuous but can I stay the night?”, he asked raising his eyebrow flirtatiously, tangling his fingers in hers on her lap. “Baker street kind of….exploded earlier”.

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“Its a long story” he said pulling her from the couch, leading her down the hall to her bedroom “I’ll explain later”. 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the change in rating...Here be filth - don't like? Don't read
> 
> Comments always welcome - be gentle with me though :)

He pulled a not-at-all reluctant Molly through the dark hallway listening to her soft foot falls behind him in her sock clad feet. She let out a little squeak as he propelled her through the open door. He’d left one of the bedside lamps on from when he got dressed so the room was bathed in warm light. He closed the door behind him and looked over at her.

Molly pulled nervously at the hem of her t-shirt and bit her lip. The nervous giggles from the hallway fell away and in the silent bedroom she could hear her own breathing - it sounded like she’d just run for the bus! She looked him for a second; his back against the door, he was just watching her - _like prey_ she thought.

Sherlocks gaze was too intense. She twisted the fabric in her hands. She wished she’d changed into something nicer while he was in the bath. She had a couple of what would be considered ‘sexy’ nighties (bought when she was trying (thought not very hard admittedly) to reignite things with Tom). On second thoughts, she’d probably given him a heart attack if he’d come out and found her sprawled on the sofa in one of them - maybe another day, she thought and blushed to herself.

Sherlock watched her intently. Although they stood there in silence for only a few seconds, it seemed to stretch out for minutes and he realised she was having a whole conversation in her head. He couldn't tell what she was thinking (he never could) but her body language suggested she was nervous but a faint smile and blush spread across her face and he knew that she was thinking something wicked. 

Sherlock was the one to break the silence. Looking down at his feet, he let a long “Soooo”, draw out - stretching the vowel out nervously - as he looked over to her bed to his left. 

Molly followed his gaze to the bed. It was slightly rumpled from her sleeping in it earlier. Their eyes then met once more and Molly (surprising even herself) said “Fuck it” and launched herself at him.

Sherlock has a secret kink about Molly swearing. No one knows; he barely likes to admit it to himself. She so rarely does it, it always takes him by surprise. The first time she told him to “fuck off” is indelibly stored away. (Even though she was furious at the time, in his mind he can mould and transform it into someone completely different - something he does on a semi-regular basis when he’s alone).

She covers the distance between them in an instant and he reflexively opens his arms to catch her. She jumps and brings her knees up to his hips. His hands grip tightly to her arse and the force of her (admittedly tiny - all 8 stone -no wait…he recalibrates - 8 st 2 lbs) frame propels him back against the door. His back and her knees take the brunt of the force and they both let out a “oomph” noise. Her arms snaked around his neck and she kisses him. Just like his one earlier its not gentle or artful but it is passionate and much wanted.

She’s peppering his whole face now with kisses; wherever she can reach. One of her kisses ventures close to his mouth again and he takes the opportunity to open his mouth and tease her lips with his tongue. Molly catches on quick and reciprocates. 

Sherlock is vaguely aware he’s making a keening noise low in his throat and a tiny bit of him is embarrassed by his enthusiasm. She's wriggling slightly and the terrible thought that her might drop her brings him out of his reverie and he stumbled the few steps to the bed. He felt the bed against his knees and he drops her unceremoniously where she lightly bounces and giggles. Looking down at her his heart clenched in his chest; he should have done this years ago.

Molly sprawls out where he drops her; splaying her arms and legs. She should be more coy she thinks but she’s been that for too long. Her laugh dissipates and she smiles lovingly up at him.

Sherlock stood between her splayed legs; her shirt had ridden up to around her waist. He watched as she extended one foot and placed it on his chest gently. She trailed it slowly down his body until it rubbed against his straining, ( _when did that happen?!_ ) pyjama clad erection. He growled at her and grabbed her ankle; stilling her foots onslaught. Pulling the sock off, he chucked it behind him. Molly squealed as his fingers brushed the ticklish arch of her foot and she tried to escape his grasp by pushing herself further up the bed. But Sherlock caught the other flailing foot and repeated his actions. She was very ticklish; he’d make use of that little tit-bit later. Placing his knee on the bed, he swung the other up and over next to her thigh. Her giggles had stopped but she was pink and breathing hard. Bracing his hands next to her shoulders and lowering his face to hers, he could feel the hot puffs of air on his face.

“Molly”, he said almost questioningly. 

“It’s ok”, she nods gently and he lowers himself to kiss her. Gentle and much more skilled than before, they soon turn heated and insatiable. The feeling of her fingers in his hair do nothing to help matters; he’s not sure whose teeth and tongue belong to who. He lets his head fall to her chest as he’s sure if he doesn't take a breath he’ll pass out. Molly continues to tug at his hair and he realises that he is cradled between her parted legs. He monetarily worries that he’s too heavy and he’s crushing her but she doesn't seem to mind, quite the contrary - Molly arches her back and whispers his name. For a moment his hand grips her hip bone and she wonders where he’s going with it. She’s embarrassingly aroused and is actually relived when it pushes up over her ribs and under her t-shirt. 

“Sherlock!”, she gasped out as her grasps her breast and squeezes it. He returns to kissing her for a moment while palming her; pinching her. One pinch causes her to squeak into his open mouth. Sherlock can't wait anymore. Reluctant to leave the heat thats pulling between her legs, he flails slightly as he tries to pull her shirt off. It’s impossible though. 

Pushing himself up onto his knees, “Off”, he grunts and she pulls it up and over her head herself. He does the same with his own and throws it somewhere behind him.

Sherlock surveys her. He hair is spread wildly behind her and the pink blush that so easily blooms on her ivory skin spills like a Rorschach blot across her chest.

He watches her for a little too long and Molly becomes self conscious. _Compensating for the size of her mouth and breasts,_ flits through her head and she goes to cover herself with her arms.

“No”, he says (a little too forcefully) and grasps her wrists. He softens his voice and slips his hands into hers; interlacing their fingers, pressing them down to the mattress. “They’re perfect. You’re perfect”. Sherlock looks into her eyes willing her to believe him. She does.

Molly closes her eyes as he lowers his head to her breasts. She wants to grab and pull his hair again or grip his arms, something to counteract the sensation but he keeps them pinned above her head.

She tastes like soap and perfume and sweat and he can’t get enough. He licks and bites and sucks until his jaw is sore and he’s pretty sure he’s left marks on her. He’s vaguely aware he's saying words, ‘ _Molly’, ‘fuck’, ‘mine’, ‘yes’_ are all in there. _‘Love’_ too he thinks. He finally lets go of her hands so as to continue down her stomach. Light touches make her belly tremble and hard bites make her gasp. He doesn't know which is better.

Molly worries that she might just come from this alone. “Please!”, she begs and she remembers him pleading ‘ _please’_ earlier in the day. They were both so frantic but for wholly different reasons. She feels him nuzzle at her pants.

Sherlock closes his eyes and breaths her in. She's hot and damp here and he mouths her through the fabric. 

“Fuck”, she gasps and manly pride wells up in his chest. What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm and he quickly learns what makes her shriek and grasp at the duvet. 

He feels her come milliseconds before he hears it. She pulses against his mouth and her thigh muscles reflexively want to pull her legs together. He thinks she’s saying his name over and over and he pulls away after it becomes pleading. He suddenly becomes aware of the incessant throb in his groin; his cock is squashed between his body and he bed and is making its presence known. Sherlock kneels up again to relieve the pressure. Molly sits up too, her hands going to the draw string at his pyjamas. He’d’ve put good money on Molly wanting to relax in the afterglow but he would've been wrong; she was insatiable. He tipped his head back and stared at the light fitting above his head whilst she pulled at the knot with trebling hands. She undid it and pushed the waistband down letting his cock spring eagerly free. Her hands disappeared though and he looked back down. She was shimmying out of her own underwear. He followed suit and pushed his own down and off. He climbed back onto the bed.

“Now” she gasped, gripping him tightly in her hand. He knew he should go slow and savour this moment but all reason had gone out the window and he pushed into her tiny body in one swift move. Molly yelped and he stilled instantly; worried that he’d hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her again he thought. No one ever would he told himself.

Catching her eye, she smiled and let out a breathy laugh - she looked wrecked he thought - “it’s ok i’m fine, keep going, don't fucking stop!”she pleaded. He laughed too and thrust his hips hard. “Yeah like that” she reassured him.

Sherlock was pretty sure he looked wrecked too. Sweat dripped from his face and fell in the cleft between her breasts. She clawed at his biceps and back. When she moved her hands to his arse - pulling him into her more - he was lost. Although this was the culmination of those three little words, this was desperation; the realisation of what he’d almost lost. He wanted to be buried in her; to fuck her so hard they’d never be able to separate them. Her scream brought him out of his head as he felt her body go taught and clench around him. A couple of thrusts later he joined her. Saying her name over and over until his body stilled and grew heavy. Wary of crushing her, he fell to the side and pulled her with him.

They lay for what felt like forever. Molly stroked his sweat slicked hair away from his face and his eyes grew heavy with sleep. Molly moved to switch the lamp off and he gripped her waist. “I’m not going anywhere” she reassured him, pulling the duvet up over them both. 

As they lay in the dark, he whispered, “I love you”, as sleep overtook him. 

“I know”, she replied. 


End file.
